


Play Nice

by Sherlock1110, sherlockian4evr



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bananas, Crack, Established Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Established Relationship, Established Sebastian Moran/James Moriarty, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-13
Updated: 2016-09-13
Packaged: 2018-08-14 20:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8028283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock1110/pseuds/Sherlock1110, https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlockian4evr/pseuds/sherlockian4evr
Summary: For the prompt:Sherlock and Moriarty wake up chained together to find a note from John and Moran telling them that they're sick of their childish feud so they've gone to the pub and left them to sort it out between them and they'll unchain them when they're friends. Can be as crack filled or smutty as you like.





	Play Nice

Sherlock woke feeling groggy. He went to move, but felt something holding him in place. He looked down the length of his body and found he was chained to someone else. John, no doubt. As he pushed himself upright he heard someone groan. “John?”

“Sherly!”

The room was dark, but the detective could just imagine the grin on the other man's face. “Looks like someone's playing a game,” Sherlock spat back. He yanked his cuffed wrists hard and found Jim on top of him; his wrists also cuffed.

Jim gave the detective a ridiculous peck on the cheek. “I think there's a note for us.”

There was the sound of paper crinkling between them as Moriarty tried to pull them up.

“And how are we supposed to read it?” Sherlock asked acidly.

“I don't know... Turn on the lights?”

Sherlock yanked his hand again, only to find Moriarty on top of him once more.

“This time, I'm not moving. You knew it would happen.”

Sherlock tried to glare in the darkness surrounding them. “You're a jerk.”

“I'm your friendly neighbourhood psychopath. Do you really think name calling is appropriate?” His tone of voice went teasing. “Oh, why not? You're an arrogant twat.”

“Very mature.”

“Says you.”

“We need to know who did this!” Sherlock snapped.

“That's why I suggested turning on the lights, Sherly.”

“How?!” Sherlock snapped.

Jim laughed. “We've got to work together.”

“I'm not working with you! You give sociopaths a bad name.”

“I'm a psychopath, do your research.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I know the difference! No one else seems to.”

“Poor Sherly, all misunderstood.” Jim rolled off of Sherlock and started pulling, trying to get him to move with him. “Oh, come on. Don't leave me lonely.”

“I can't possibly leave you at all!” Sherlock's temper was getting the better of him and he was afraid it was partly John's fault.

“Sherly, you're a genius. I'm a genius, now stand up with me.”

“My feet are tied together!” Sherlock spat back.

“Well, why didn't you say so?” Jim asked, a grin in his voice.

“You're really annoying, has anyone ever told you that?”

“Seb thinks I'm charming. Now sit up so I can get to your feet.”

“I can untie them myself.”

Moriarty laughed when Sherlock growled out, “Bollocks.”

“They're padlocked aren't they?” He asked smugly already knowing the answer.

“Shut up.”

Moriarty cackled. “Oh, this is too funny. Sherly has to put up with me. I bet you hate being in the same room with someone that's smarter than you.”

“You are not smarter than me.” Sherlock would have stamped his foot if he could have.

“I'm smarter than your big brother, and he's smarter than you!”

“Mycroft's naive.”

“I really don't think that's true, Mr. Holmes, do you?”

“Don't 'Mr. Holmes' me.”

Sherlock tried to jerk away in a huff, but Jim grabbed his hand and drew it near so he could kiss his knuckles.

“Ok, Sherly, love.”

“God dammit! Mycroft! Is this your doing? Thought you'd have a little giggle with your baby brother and your favourite psycho?!”

There was no response, but he hadn't really expected one.

“Sherly, you're going to hurt my feelings. Besides, that brother of yours doesn't have this well developed a sense of humour.”

“This isn't funny, Moriarty.”

“Call me Jim. Please, I insist.”

“You can assist all you like, but you are boring.”

“That's not what you said when I had you running round after security guards and Botox injections.”

“Oh… screw you!” Sherlock realised how very unlike him that was.

“Listen to you!” Jim cried out in glee. “You're getting irritated. Am I getting under your skin? Crawling under your epidermis? Can you feel me?”

The lights flickered on, being controlled remotely. But they were too involved in their little verbal scuffle to really care for a few moments.

“Do shut up! Where's that note gone?” Sherlock looked around to see where it had fallen.

In the scuffle it had almost blown to the other side of the room.

“Dammit,” Sherlock hissed.

“Well I want to know what it says, Sherly, so you're coming with me.”

With that he began dragging the other man across the room.

“Would you wait a moment?!” Sherlock managed to dig in his heels and stopped their forward progression. “Let me get up.” He got to his knees. “And we can get it together.”

“Ah, scared it’s from a friend of mine?”

“No,” Sherlock laughed. “You're just as embarrassed about this situation as I am.”

“Shut it, Sherly,” he snapped, snatching up the paper.

Sherlock grabbed a corner of the paper and tried to take it for himself, but he only succeeded in tearing it in half. Still, he recognised John's handwriting.

“Bollocks,” he hissed.

Jim, himself didn't recognise it, at least the first half, but he knew what that look on Sherlock's face meant.

“I'm deducing the last half of this letter to be in Moran's writing?”

“It's Seb. And yes.”

“They want us to play nice,” Sherlock said in disbelief. He couldn't believe what he had read. Apparently John and Moran were sick of their fighting. The pair had done this to them and had gone to the pub, of all things. They wouldn't let them go until they learned to get along.

“This is ridiculous! There is no way this is John's idea!”

“You are not blaming it on Seb.”

Sherlock growled. “But it's clearly his fault! John doesn't possess the brain power for this.”

“My Seb barely has the brain of a gnat. It wasn't his idea!”

The two men looked one another, sudden realisation hitting them at once. “Mycroft,” they said together.

“I knew he was behind this, somehow. He just didn't organise it. He put the idea into John's head.”

“You know there's one thing about John that I know I'm not wrong about.”

“Which is?”

“Well he wouldn't leave us tied in here indefinitely. A) he knows I don't eat or sleep without him nagging me and b) what if there's a fire? The keys are in here, it's just where they would be in an emergency…”

“Up the chimney, then.” Jim tried to crawl towards it.

“Don't be ridiculous. He'd hide it in the vase.” Sherlock yanked in the other direction.

“Look, this isn't working!” Jim snapped.

“No. Because the vase is too obvious… don't punch me.”

Jim let his eyebrow raise. “Why would I punch you voluntarily?”

“Because I know where the key is.”

“Alright…”

Slowly, Sherlock reached for Jim's back pocket and pulled out the key. He held it up between them.

Jim started laughing. “Oh, that's good. That's really good.”

“That's John for you.”

“Maybe. But it was definitely Seb that put it there.”

“Are we seriously arguing over this?” Sherlock grumbled as he released his hands and feet from the cuffs then threw the key in the air for Jim to catch.

The consulting criminal caught it and made fast work of his own cuffs. “They'll never expect us to get free. Definitely not this soon.”

Sherlock got a sly look. “Jim... Want to have some fun?”

“You do realise-”

“Probably,” Sherlock cut him off and snatched up the key to the door from inside the top banana in the bowl.

“No, you do realise that it worked. Tying us together.”

“I don't care.”

Jim followed Sherlock out of the room. “Where are we going, Sherly?”

“I don't trust them. What if Mycroft's fed them more ideas?”

“We're going to the pub, then?”

“Yes. I plan a little eaves dropping and I have the plan covered.”

***

20 minutes later, the pair were outside the apartment next to the pub and Sherlock was picking the lock. “No one lives here, the place has been empty for months.”

With that, they snuck up the stairs.

“How does this help?” Jim hissed.

Sherlock actually growled. “Just trust me on this one.”

“We hate each other, why would I trust you?”

“Because I got you out of that room, didn't I?”

They'd reached the attic and Sherlock started patting the wood against the wall until he found a hollow bit. It slid aside and Sherlock crawled through.

Jim laughed. “Ok, that was cool.” He couldn't believe he had just said that, but shrugged it off. “Why didn't we just go through the door?”

“Because they would be sat in a spot where they can see it.”

“Right. Ex-army. Keep aware of your surroundings at all times.”

“Just so.”

Sherlock led the way down the stairs. They entered the pub from a door near the bathrooms, then took seats within earshot of their boyfriends, but out of sight.

The two were talking animatedly but they couldn't quite work out what they were saying so they moved a table across.

John was giggling at something the other man had said.

“You mean he actually-”

“Came in through the chimney dressed as Santa because I never had that as a child. It was hilarious!”

Sherlock gave Jim a flat look. “Really?”

The consulting criminal shifted uncomfortably under his stare. “What?! I may be a psychopath, but even I had Santa as a child. Seb deserved to experience it at least once.”

Sherlock heard the dreaded words. Seb saying, “Your turn.”

“Shit,” the detective hissed. “This isn't good.”

“Sherlock has a habit of seeing if he could make me jump, so he waited until I was at work and built a shelf on the inside of the chimney for him to sit on to surprise me. Well, he surprised me, but more because he fell out rather than jumped.”

“How'd you mean?”

“He fell asleep.” John burst out laughing. “I had to see Mike after work one day and it just happened to be that day. I was a few hours late and the text letting Sherlock know was across the room in his jacket pocket.”

Now Seb burst out laughing.

“Oh, do shut up.” Sherlock blushed furiously even as he said it.

Jim rolled his eyes, then he ducked down in his seat. “Quick. Hide. It's your brother, the Ice Man and his copper.”

The pair hid below the table.

“You know he really isn't that bad,” Sherlock heard himself saying.

“Who?”

“My brother.”

“I'll pretend I don't know you,” Mycroft commented as he sat by Seb. “Did you two have any problems with your... Hmm... project?”

“I knew it!” Sherlock hissed. “Bloody Mycroft!”

“I thought you said he wasn't so bad,” Jim teased.

“He's not,” the detective countered. “But he's a meddling fool.”

“You know, all the meetings we had apart from coming across as an arrogant prick, he really does care about you.”

“Oh, please. Hearing that from John is bad enough. Don't you start.”

“It just means there'll be one more Holmes to kill when the time comes. I'll have to. It'll be self-defence once I kill you.”

“So the game is still on.” Sherlock peaked out from under the table. “Good. I was afraid things were going to get boring.”

“How long are we going to stay under here for?”

Sherlock shrugged again and in the process managed to whack his head into the table.

Greg looked around at the sound and saw Sherlock's foot sticking out from under the table. He stood and walked over to it, then stuck his head under. “Hello, Sherlock. Jim.”

This time Jim whacked his head.

“This is no fair!” Sherlock complained, rolling out from beneath the table.

“How did you even get in here?” John asked, joining them.

“The roof… ish.”

“That's not the point.” Seb approached his boyfriend. “Are you two gonna play nice now, boss?”

“Aw, Sebby, where's the fun in that?” Jim pecked him on the cheek, then pecked him on the other one. “We are going to play, though.”

“Woah!” Sherlock held his hands up and stepped back. “Too much talk.”

He tried to leave, but John snagged his collar.

“Nope, you're not going anywhere,” John proclaimed.

“Look, at least be a little cryptic the next time you want to lock me in a room.”

“Sherlock, I hid the goddamn door key in a banana!”

“My point exactly. Obvious.”

John looked to the others for help. At least Seb and Greg looked appropriately flummoxed as to how the detective had figured it out. The three geniuses exchanged long suffering looks.

Mycroft spoke up. “Goldfish. What else can one expect from them?”

Moriarty grinned. “This changes nothing, Mr. Holmes.” He glanced towards Sherlock. “This doesn't make me want to kill him any less, I'm just going to have to be cleverer about it.”

Mycroft stepped forward. “You can try. But you know it'll never work.”

“Oh, boss.” Seb looked at his boyfriend, disappointed. “Now look what you made me do.” He had pulled out a gun and was pointing it at the four men in general. “You go threatening people and I have to get you out of the mess you get yourself into.” He glanced at John. “Sorry about this, John. It was great talking to you. Good luck keeping yours in line. You see how it is with Jim. Just so you know, I won't enjoy killing you if it comes down to it.”

“Ta for that,” John said with a bite of sarcasm.

“Come on, boss. Let's go.”

“What's with the gun?” John muttered.

“You know I could just arrest him now,” the DI pointed out. “It's kind of in the job description.”

Moran waved his gun menacingly and Jim said, “Let's keep things civil. I'd hate for Seb to have to shoot.” He gave a mock salute. “Laters.”

John looked around, incredulous. “He just pulled his gun out in a busy pub and coincidently no one noticed.”

Greg glanced at the doctor, he was right. Everyone was completely oblivious to everything going on around them.

Both Holmses were making faces.

“What?” John asked.

It was Sherlock who responded. “Let me guess. Moran suggested the pub.”

“Yeah. So?”

“So Jim owns it. Everyone in here is likely on his payroll. I suggest we leave quietly.”

Greg looked around and then punched John on the arm. “We won't be coming here again.”

John stuck his hand in between his jacket and his shirt, resting it on the butt of his SIG. He made towards the door after the others. “Too right.”


End file.
